Gun-slinger
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: James asked Frank to join him against a stranger in a gun fight that goes in a very unexpected direction.


Frank peeked around the corner warily, wondering if he had been wise to offer his assistance to James as back-up to a gun fight of all things.

Though James was a good friend of Frank's, he was also rather eccentric and fond of shoot-outs involving total strangers.

It was not the first time he had ever been led astray by James, led to believe he was chasing after something much greater than could possibly earned, but the fire in James' eyes yesterday as he had spoken of this new challenge had convinced Frank to join his wild friend, at least just this once.

Certainly, James was the only person Frank knew that enjoyed challenging newcomers to a battle of who could shoot more accurately, or put a dozen holes through a leaf before it even touched the ground.

But, then again, Hogwarts was a pretty safe and rather boring place to live, and Deputy James Potter had long since grown bored of a life full of watching over the Saturday night drunkards.

Still, though, it made Frank nervous how eagerly his old schoolmate would make his way over to the newest patron of The Three Stallions and challenge them to a shooting contest; worse yet, that he had dragged Frank into it all with pleading words, complaining that Sirius was far too sick right now and Remus was far too bookish, and Peter was far too big a coward to be of any help in a duel, should James find himself suddenly in need of a second.

Frank didn't even know who this week's challenger was, except that it was supposedly one of the stranger loons they'd had blowing through town.

A tall, pale man with narrowed eyes that halted all discussion when he walked in the room, the stranger had supposedly sidled up to James' side, wondering loudly if all the talk he had heard about the deputy in Hogwarts was true, about James the gun around, or if it was nothing more than another kid talking a whole lot of bluff about a gun smaller than his member.

"After all, I have heard much talk about this great James Potter, but is it true that he is so good as to defeat someone as skilled as me?" The stranger had an odd way of talking, his voice low, speaking in a slow and rasping tone, as though he were almost hissing. "Or is it possible that this deputy of yours is nothing but a coward, a boy who thinks himself better than he can ever be? Either way, I _shall _defeat him in any challenge he attempts against me!"

James had thrown back his latest glass of Firewhiskey ("Highest quality of whiskey you'll ever find," according to Madame Rosmerta, though Frank thought it was a bit too strong for his taste) and stood up on sturdy knees for someone who had been at The Three Stallions since it opened at eleven, and loudly declared for the whole saloon to hear that he would gladly take the stranger's challenge.

"After all, what kind of man would I be if I was too chicken to take on a grandfather like you?" James was said to have declared loudly, and a few of the other patrons had laughed; it was true, though, that the stranger with the big mouth looked to be rather old, his head entirely free of hair and his eyes narrowed into slits that a few of the more drunken customers swore up and down looked like snake eyes, as he watched every minuscule motion of James Potter as he slapped the saloon bar and demanded another drink from Rosmerta.

"I'd like my companion here to feel a little bit of that liquid courage before he has to face me," James had said, grinning like a loon before leaning and whispering to the stranger, "tomorrow, in front of the orchard near town at noon. Bring any kind o' gun you want, and a second, just in case."

"Very well, then, Mr. Deputy," said the pale man, his almost red eyes boring into James' in a way that might have intimidated anyone who wasn't so bold as to be moronic, as James Potter was. "I shall you on the morrow, then, with my…_second_, and you shall truly see that it is I, Tom Riddle, who is the superior marksmen. For pride has taken hold of you, and it is my job to…_correct_ you of your foolishly inflated of yourself. On the _morrow_, Mr. Deputy."

All of this Frank has heard from James himself when the wild-eyed young man barged over to Frank's house, demanding to know if James was able to count on his mate in a gun-toting.

Frank, exhausted from a long day keeping cows and criminals alike in check, sighed and, without really considering whether or not his friend was being serious about all this, agreed to be James' second.

Frank's wife, Alice, was reluctant to let him run off and join something that might end in someone's death, but James had sworn no one would get hurt.

"I don't battle to the death, Alice, don't you worry. More like than not, Frank'll only be holding on to all my stuff while I show this Mr. Riddle just how good with a gun that I truly am." James gave them both a cocky grin just to prove how little he really concerned himself about this _Mr. Riddle_.

And so, Frank found himself riding to Knockturn Alley, the poorer section of the town that was usually filled with drunken old miners who cast Frank a dirty look whenever he arrived for rounds.

It was with relief that he turned the corner to find James already waiting as Frank trotted his horse up, pulling his hat low to keep the sun out of his eyes, with a gun in his holster and a hatchet tied to his satchel, ready if needed to be used.

He gave James a forced, carefree grin, swinging the hatchet up one-handed to show to his friend, confident in the young deputy's skills that Frank would never need to pull either weapon out against this strange, pale man.

The stranger, Mr. Riddle had already arrived, with a dark-haired woman riding closely behind.

She was wild, the woman, in a very beautiful way, with a heaving chest and a tightly-done corset; her grey-blue eyes sparkled wildly as she leapt down from her horse, and her curly hair was rolled tightly against the side of her head.

"Good morning to you both, fine gentlemen," Mr. Riddle said in his snaky voice, letting the woman peck him on the cheek as he swung down from his horse. "I hope you do not intend on using that hatchet there, sir, as this _is _a gun fight after all. Nor that knife strapped to your boot. Or do you not trust me to keep my word, sir?"

Frank blushed, letting the hatchet continue to hang limply in his hand as he swung down from his own horse, wondering what strange madness he had allowed James to involve him in.

"Here is how it will work, sir," James said, the last of them to jump from his horse, brushing Frank aside as he slipped his gun from its holster, waving it in the direction of several busted targets, riddled with holes from years of use. "You and I will take turns shooting at each target, and whoever gets the closest to bulls-eye is declared the fastest gun known to Hogwarts. Got it?"

"Of course, sir, but it will not be _me _doing the shooting, oh no, that would simply never do," Mr. Riddle replied, his lip curling upwards into a smirk. "It is my lovely little lady here who will be doing the shooting on behalf. Bella is ever so fast with a gun, you should see her."

"A girl?" James asked incredulously, and, as Bella gave Mr. Riddle another deep kiss on the lips, James shook his head incredulously. "Are you sure that's fair? I _am _very good, and I wouldn't want this poor little lady to get hurt."

"Oh, don't you worry, Mr. Deputy," Bella said, pulling her gun out and pointing it at the very first of the ten targets. She pointed and aimed, pulled the trigger before laughing as the bullet imbedded itself neatly through the centre of the red bulls-eye. "I'm also _very _handy with a gun."

James sighed, but took his spot in front of the first target, lining up with the hole left behind by Bella. He concentrated, squeezed, and…

"Fantastic, Mr. Deputy!" Bella squealed as James' slug tore through a new hole just left of her own, so that the fabric of the target ripped just a bit more. "How about the next one, then?"

The two of them took turns shooting at each target, always incredibly close even when the bulls-eye was high up in the air or resting low to the ground; they shot blindfolded and switched hands, and continued to shoot until it was clear that neither gunslinger was better than the other.

"You're pretty talented, for a girl," James said finally, wiping the sweat from his brow, and Bella laughed, a harsh sound that made Frank's skin crawl.

"You don't even know the half of it, Mr. Deputy," she replied coyly, giving Frank a lingering look that left him clutching the handle of his hatchet, wondering if he would find it necessary to use against her and the strange Mr. Riddle.

A briefly troubled look crossed Bella's face for a moment as she watched Frank's hand tense on the hatchet, and he lifted it slightly, prepared to use it at any second; this Bella and Mr. Riddle did not seem the most friendly of sorts, and he was getting a very strange feeling from the two of them.

And then the women turned to look at James and Frank as calmly as she had just a few moments ago, gun still held tightly in her hand.

She gave Frank a twisted smile before raising the gun ever so slightly, letting it point at James' chest, her eyes lighting up with madness.

Frank realised a second too late what was going on as the woman let the gun lower slightly, shooting James in the arm as he rushed to grab his own weapon, before raising the gun again, shooting him in the chest, right where the heart was located.

"No!" Frank cried out, leaping into the air with a startled sob, letting the hatchet fall to the ground somewhere behind him as he hurried over to James.

"Thank you for this lovley hatchet, sir," Mr. Riddle said, leaning down to pick up Frank's hatchet, turning it over in his hands. "I've never killed anyone with a hatchet before, but I suppose there's a first time for everything, isn't there, Bella?"

"Of course, m'lord," Bella replied, giving him a flirting glance, gun still pointed at James as Frank struggled to hold onto his bleeding friend.

"M'lord?" James asked, eyes growing wider with every passing second. "You're not…that's not possible…is it…_Lord Voldemort?_"

"Ah, you know of my work then, Mr. Deputy?" the snake-like man asked, and Frank could see the madness in his eyes, the coldness in his face.

"_The_ Lord Voldemort?" Frank asked as James spluttered, clutching at his still bleeding arm. "The mad murderer from up north who killed all those poor girls? Then that must mean that your sharp-shooter is..."

"Bellatrix Lestrange, yes," cooed the mad woman, walking closer to Frank in a manner that was almost a dance. Her lips were pursed, her heavy-lidded eyes opened wide so that Frank could barely even see the whites, her pupils expanded to take over nearly the whole eye. "The only woman dear Tom has ever loved enough to keep alive. Of course, he couldn't kill me even if he wanted to; I'm much too fast with a gun for dear Tom to even try."

She flitted back over to the still smirking Voldemort, kissing her murderous lover on the cheek before turning to give Frank another mad smile.

_She's not sane_, Frank realised as he watched James continue to moan, clutching at the gunshot wound that Bellatrix Lestrange had left there. _Neither of them are. We were tricked, weren't we? They were only playing off of James' pride the whole time. _

"You're freezing, James!" Frank said, holding onto his friend, trying to force as much life back into the man as he could, but it didn't seem to be working, as James grew ever more paler by the moment, the very light in his eye losing focus.

"It had been ever so much fun talking to you, Mr. Deputy," Bellatrix said, and Frank looked up to see her holding his hatchet over her head as she took a swing in their direction. Frank ducked, but the hatchet did not come anywhere near him as Lestrange laughed. "Oh, how scared you look, sir! Don't worry, I won't chop your head off just yet. That fun is for after your poor little heart has stopped bleeding."

"But why?" Frank asked incredulously, giving James a worried look. The man was gasping for breath, and Frank could see that the bullet wound that Lestrange had left through his chest was also bleeding heavily, soaking the front of James' clothes a dark red. "Why James and not the sheriff? Why pretend to want to challenge him instead of just killing him? Elaborate plans aren't part of your usual methods, says all the news reports about your murders from before."

"Well, none of those other victims were the great James Potter, the fastest and best gun under the sun," Lestrange replied calmly, as though the answer ought to have been so obvious. "We wanted to see how good that gun of his truly was. A pity, though," she sighed as James continued to struggle for air, "the fastest just wasn't fast enough to stop me."

She took another swing through the air with her hatchet, giggling when Frank flinched, before moving forward and, with a kick of her boot to Frank's sternum, shoved him aside to pierce through James' skull with the hatchet.

"Ah, how lovely the sound of breaking bones and dying men," Lestrange said as James screamed, the pain apparent in every syllable of his shriek.

"Pleeease..." James wheezed, clutching his bleeding arm to his chest, face left in broken tatters, as he curled into a ball, trying to hold himself together as what little was left of his energy slipped away, turning into nothing more than a dark red horror in the grass around them. "Frank, tell Lily I'm...tell her that I'm..."

Frank did not hear James' last words, because he saw Lestrange pull the gun from her pocket once more, and he turned to run away, air already filling his lungs for a good yell, but then there was a _bang_ and he was falling into the dust and grass, not even aware there was a hole in his head before he was already dead.


End file.
